


Sparklers on the Roof

by Jolie_Black



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Screenplay/Script Format, post-Appledore angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolie_Black/pseuds/Jolie_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Archie climb on a roof and light sparklers.</p><p>A farewell. Friendship, fluff and angst. Set towards the end of HLV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparklers on the Roof

**Author's Note:**

> Originally inspired by [LizCarroll2612's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LizCarroll2612/pseuds/LizCarroll2612/works) very sweet story, ["Seasonal Crafting for Chemists"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5298578), in which Sherlock - just home from hospital in HLV - invites Archie to 221B Baker Street for a bit of seasonal crafting. Between them, they produce a box of home-made sparklers, and appoint to meet and light them on New Year's Eve. 
> 
> But then of course, the events of HLV take a very different turn...
> 
> Off the cuff and unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story was originally meant to be set between the Appledore disaster and Sherlock and John's farewell on the tarmac. As of "The Abominable Bride", the timeline of this story is slightly off. It seems now that Sherlock can't have been out and about London from Appledore until after New Year's Day, if at all. I apologise. 
> 
> Happy Christmas, everyone!

**_Baker Street, London,_ ** _on the evening of December 28 th. Christmas decorations are still in place in most windows, but other than that, the street has returned to business as usual, with cars, cabs and busses forging ahead through the darkness. _

**_Outside No. 221,_ ** _Archie and his mother are standing at the front door, both in warm coats. Archie also wears a brightly coloured woollen hat with a pompom on top. His mother rings the bell. A moment later, Mrs Hudson opens the door to them. When she sees who the visitors are, she smiles, but it is a rather strained smile._

MRS HUDSON _(ushering them in):_ Oh, Archie. It’s good you’re here. He was worried you’d be late. _(Archie frowns. To Archie’s Mum)_ Good evening, Mrs Adams.

ARCHIE’S MUM: Rebecca, please.

_They shake hands, then retreat into the house._

_We cut to **the hall on the ground floor.** Archie is hovering at the foot of the stairs, but seems reluctant to go up. Mrs Hudson gives him a little pat on the shoulder. _

MRS HUDSON: It’s alright, young man. You go straight up. You know how impatient he can get if you keep him waiting.

_She is trying very hard to sound light-hearted, but her voice almost breaks on the last words. She takes out a handkerchief and turns away as if to blow her nose, but she’s in fact muffling a sob. Now Archie’s Mum frowns, too._

ARCHIE’S MUM: Are you alright, Mrs Hudson?

MRS HUDSON _(evasively):_ Yes, of course. Just a cold. _(To Archie, gesturing)_ Up you go.

_Archie gives his mum a somewhat confused, questioning look, but she nods to him encouragingly, and he begins to ascend the stairs._

 

 **_On the first floor,_ ** _the door to the living room of No. 221B stands wide open. The lights are on. Archie knocks on the jamb of the open door and pokes his head inside._

ARCHIE _(tentatively):_ Sherlock?

_There are two men in the room, but neither of them is Sherlock. One stands by the window with his phone in his hand and his eyes on the screen, looking rather bored. The other is sitting in John’s armchair, tapping his foot impatiently on the carpeted floor. They are both in plain but smart black suits, looking very much like two of Mycroft’s aides or bodyguards, which is exactly what they are. Archie takes a step backwards when he sees them. The one in the armchair rises to his feet._

MYCROFT’S MAN: Are you Archie Adams?

ARCHIE _(intimidated):_ Yes, I - I was looking for Sherlock.

MYCROFT’S MAN: You'll find him upstairs.

ARCHIE _(confused):_ Upstairs?

_The man shrugs._

ARCHIE: Erm -

MYCROFT’S MAN _(rather impatiently):_ Well, go on. We haven't got all night.

ARCHIE _(in a very small voice):_ Alright.

_He turns and practically flees from the room, climbing the stairs to John’s old bedroom. That door is closed, but there is a skylight above the narrow landing, leading out onto the roof of the house. It stands wide open._

ARCHIE _(calling up):_ Sherlock?

_There is a grating sound, as of someone scrambling across the roof tiles, and then Sherlock’s head appears in the opening of the skylight, dimly lit from below. He’s smiling._

SHERLOCK: Archie. There you are. Come on up.

_He reaches down and extends his hand. Archie makes a jump for it, and grasps Sherlock's hand with both his own. Sherlock hauls him up far enough so Archie can grab the edge of the skylight, and a moment later, they’re out on the sloping roof together._

SHERLOCK: Sit on the tiles, here. Prop up your feet on one of those rungs. It’s a long way down. ( _Archie, as instructed, sits with his feet against one of the broad iron rungs that lead from the skylight to the chimney.)_ Now enjoy the view for a minute, I’ll be right back.

_Sherlock climbs around him and starts making his way up towards the chimney._

ARCHIE _(turning to look after him, not interested in the view at all):_ Sherlock?

SHERLOCK: Mmh?

ARCHIE: Those men, down in your flat -

_Sherlock picks up an old shoebox from the edge of the chimney, and returns with it to where Archie is sitting. Against the night sky, in his long dark coat, he looks like a giant bat that’s made its home in Mrs Hudson’s attic, and has now come out to hunt._

SHERLOCK: Oh, don't worry about them. _(He smiles wryly.)_ Consider them my personal resident fire brigade.

_He sits down next to Archie, who moves aside a little to make room, and puts the shoebox down between his feet. It rattles softly._

ARCHIE _(with a nod at the box):_ Are those the sparklers, then?

SHERLOCK: Yes, of course.

 _He opens the box. Inside, there are the sparklers he and Archie made before Christmas, a lighter, two pairs of crucible tongs, and two pairs of safety goggles_.

ARCHIE _(protesting):_ But it isn’t New Year’s Eve yet! You can’t have fireworks on December twenty-eighth. I don’t want to waste them!

SHERLOCK: We won’t be wasting them. _(He hands Archie a pair of safety goggles.)_ Put those on. _(Archie, although clearly still not convinced, does as he’s told. With the safety goggles over his woollen hat, he looks like a cartoon version of a little mad scientist. Sherlock puts on his own goggles - with hardly better results - and then takes out the crucible tongs, picks up a sparkler with them, and hands them to Archie.)_ And now hold it well away from you while I light it.

_He holds the lighter to the sparkler. After a moment of indecision, the sparkler catches fire, spraying small glittering particles of light everywhere, in a much more magnificent array than you’d ever see from a commercial sparkler. Archie’s eyes widen in delight._

ARCHIE: Oh! It works! And they’re SO much better than the ones you can buy!

_Sherlock smiles. Together, they watch the sparkler burn down, the bright glow illuminating both their faces. Just before it’s used up, Sherlock holds another to it, securely clamped between his own tongs. This one catches fire more quickly, and Sherlock uses it to light another one for Archie, too. They both watch their lights for a moment in silence._

ARCHIE _(turning his sparkler this way and that):_ Mum always gives them names.

SHERLOCK _(distractedly):_ What?

ARCHIE: Yeah, of people she likes. She goes “This one’s you, and this one’s Simon…” and so on.

SHERLOCK: Ah. _(He nods at Archie’s sparkler.)_ Then who’s yours?

ARCHIE: Iffy. Or Niffy, maybe.

SHERLOCK _(surprised):_ Who?

_Their sparklers burn down and go out. Archie grins._

ARCHIE: My mice. I’ve got two white mice. They’re called Iffy and Niffy. But I can’t tell them apart.

_Now Sherlock grins, too._

SHERLOCK: Alright then, start over. Let’s do this properly.

_With brisk movements, he removes the burnt sparklers, sets up a new one for each of them, and lights them simultaneously._

SHERLOCK: Iffy and Niffy, then.

_He waves his sparkler around experimentally, making a glittering shower of sparks descend onto the roof below them. Archie imitates him, giggling._

SHERLOCK _(in a deliberately light tone):_ And who’s next?

ARCHIE: Erm - you say something.

SHERLOCK: Oh… Toby.

_He lights the next pair of sparklers from the old ones._

ARCHIE _(receiving his):_ Who’s Toby?

SHERLOCK: Molly Hooper’s cat.

ARCHIE _(pulling a face):_ You like cats _?_

SHERLOCK: No.

ARCHIE: I don’t, either. Shoo!

_He waves “Toby” around exuberantly, as if to chase off an imaginary cat. They spend the next ten minutes trying to outdo one another with increasingly silly names for each new sparkler, ranging from Archie’s favourite cartoon characters, all of whom Sherlock needs to have explained to him, to the milkman, Mr Sovlokakis the tobacconist, Mr Chatterjee’s innumerable wives (one sparkler for them all, because you never know how many exactly there are at any one time), the headless nun, and the Queen. Archie is so absorbed in their game that he seems to have completely forgotten that he was going to save some of the sparklers for New Year’s Eve._

ARCHIE _ _(lighting another one):__ That's Mrs Hudson!

SHERLOCK: Why?

ARCHIE _(sympathetically):_ Because she’s got a cold.

SHERLOCK: Oh.

_He looks pensively into the dying light of his own sparkler, and lets it go out. Archie holds out his._

ARCHIE: Here, start a new one.

_Sherlock doesn't react at first. And even when he's got the next sparkler burning, he seems to have suddenly lost all interest in giving it a crazy name. Archie gives him a sideways glance, aware of Sherlock’s sudden mood change, even though he doesn’t understand the reason._

ARCHIE _(nodding at Sherlock’s sparkler, in a quieter tone):_ Maybe this is your mum and dad, then?

_Sherlock raises his head sharply to look at his little friend, eyes narrowed._

SHERLOCK: Why them?

ARCHIE: Oh, just thinking of old people _. (He lights the next sparkler from “Mrs Hudson”.)_ Look, this is my gran. She’s eighty-eight!

SHERLOCK _(making an effort to sound unconcerned):_ Ah. Like the Queen. But we’ve already had the Queen.

_He fusses with the next sparkler, which is reluctant to catch fire. It conveniently gives Sherlock the chance to avoid Archie’s eyes for a while._

ARCHIE: Who's that, then?

SHERLOCK: Murder Investigation Team number fourteen of the Homicide and Serious Crime Command in the Metropolitan Police Service.

_It finally catches fire with a loud hiss._

ARCHIE  _(flippantly):_ What? How old are THEY?

SHERLOCK: No idea.

ARCHIE: But why them?

 _SHERLOCK (quietly):_ Maybe someone there has a cold right now, too.

_Archie, busy at this moment exchanging his used-up “gran” with a new and rather daring triple combination of sparklers in his tongs, merely nods. A moment later, he has lit his threefold light, brighter and more beautiful than anything they’ve had before._

ARCHIE _(triumphantly):_ Look, three at once! It’s John, Mary and the baby!

_Sherlock swallows visibly, but doesn't reply. He sits unmoving and in silence while he watches Archie waving his triple sparkler around happily, making whooshing noises. Sherlock’s own tongs, with the Metropolitan Police Service now burned down, are dangling from his hand, forgotten. When “John, Mary and the baby” are close to flickering out at last, too, he abruptly takes off his safety goggles, and makes a movement as if to get to his feet._

SHERLOCK: Come on, then. I think that was it.

ARCHIE _(rummaging around in the shoebox, unwilling to call it quits just yet):_ No, wait, there’s one left! _(He holds it up.)_ We really need to light that one, too. I’d forgotten someone.

SHERLOCK _(rather unenthusiastically):_ Who, then?

ARCHIE _(with a radiant smile):_ You.

_Sherlock regards his young friend for a long moment. The expression on his face is unreadable, but Archie’s smile falters all the same, and is gradually replaced with a worried frown._

ARCHIE _(uncomfortably):_ What’s -

_Sherlock shakes his head. He gently takes the last unlit sparkler out of Archie’s hand, and replaces it in the box. He then puts the tongs and the safety goggles in there, too, closes the lid, and hands the box to Archie._

SHERLOCK: Save that last one for later. You can do this on your own now, can’t you?

_Archie receives the box in his hands._

ARCHIE: Save it for when? New Year's Eve?

SHERLOCK: No. Light it on the twenty-eighth of June.

_In the ensuing silence, the two of them can hear heavy footsteps on the stairs below the skylight, and a moment later, a man’s voice calls up to them._

MYCROFT’S MAN: Mr Holmes?

SHERLOCK _(to Archie):_ Come on, Archie. Time’s up.

 

 

THE END


End file.
